


Should I Stay, Or Should I Go?

by deedeejadexo



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Kid Peter Parker, Marvel Universe, POV Peter Parker, POV Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Iron Man 2, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Time Travel, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeejadexo/pseuds/deedeejadexo
Summary: When Peter finds himself sent ten years into the past, what is he to do? How will he get back, can anyone help him? And most importantly, why and how in the Hell does he keep finding himself in these sorts of situations?(I recommend being up to date with all the movies in the MCU before reading this. Not a necessity, but may help with the understanding of events and the timeline etc.)





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **2008**
> 
>  
> 
> _"The truth is... I am Iron Man."_

“’ _I am Iron Man?!_ ’” Pepper Potts all but screeched, disheartened and absolutely shocked. Though, she supposed, she shouldn’t be.

She followed Tony out of the conference room and towards the elevator in a cluttered fashion, keeping up with his quick strides, her heels clicking against the carpeted covered linoleum in a heavy flurry for a woman so light and agile.

“Did you listen to a _thing_ agent Coulson said?”

“Yeah, listening isn’t really my style.” Tony sniffed non committedly, checking and scrolling through emails and text messages on his phone, sending one to his chauffer to be ready for him when he steps outside. Sparing a smirking glance at Pepper, he readjusted his shirt collar, unbuttoning the top button.

“What happened to sticking to the cards?” Pepper pressed, red waves of long silk long hair pouring over her shoulder as she turned to gage her boss’ expression.

“Cards, shmards.”

“Tony…”

The metallic elevator doors opened to the usual ‘ding’ sound, revealing the carriage, the only obstacle between their conference room filled with animated press inspectors and investigative journalists and the long road back to his cliff side home.

Tony Stark stepped inside. He spun around, raised a simple brow at his PA expectantly when she didn’t immediately follow. “Coming?”

Pepper looked almost fondly upon her boss. She seemed to truly debate whether to turn back or step into the cart with him. But ever the professional, she took a deep breath as her smile faded somewhat and decidedly took a step back, gesturing with a thumb to the doors behind her.

“I should really go back and make sure everything from here goes as smoothly as I can. There’s no getting out of or going back from this one, but at least I can maybe salvage the conference and soften the media blow that’s inevitably headed your way. Not to mention what might happen to the reputation of the company. Maybe if I can find agent Coulson…”

Tony pretended to mull all this over, pretended to care deeply about the possible ramifications, nodding ever so slightly at various intervals. Then, inclining his head to the left inquisitively, pocketing his phone inside his right blazer pocket, he raised a hand and pointed towards the redhead flirtatiously. “So, no celebrating with me later?”

“I hardly think so, Tony.” Pepper strictly intoned, now heading herself in the opposite direction and back towards the meeting.

“Gonna make me drink alone?” Tony hummed, mockingly unimpressed. “Sad. Cruel, really.”

“Good _bye_ , Tony.” She smiled, rolling her eyes not unkindly as the elevator doors began to slide shut.

Tony sighed when they finally closed. He couldn’t wait to go home. It’d been a long day. Governmental interviews and statements, followed by S.H.E.I.L.D prepping and planning, followed with more prepping and interviews. Rules and guidelines set in place for him to follow. And he'd defied, defiled and abandoned them all.

This whole business with Obadiah, it’d worn Tony out more than he’d outwardly be inclined to admit. Tony could count on one hand how many people he trusted with absolute certainty. And unfortunately his list was quickly growing shorter. Since his parents were taken from him at a relatively young age, the young genius had to learn quite quickly how to fill some very big shoes. And with leading one of the world’s top weapons manufacturing companies in the world, a lot of pressure came with it. Not just from within the USA, but also numerous world leaders and allies their great patriotic country entertained and did business with globally. And if it weren’t for his father’s friend – practical member of his family – Obi, he’d have not even been able to take a step off the ground after learning of his parents passing. But with the mans help, he was able to carry on, grow, learn and have a semblance, more so, of his fathers footsteps to follow.

He owed the man much of his life, shared most of everything he had to offer. So naturally, Obadiah’s betrayal had struck him deep. Pain he’d not felt emotionally for a very long hand returned tenfold. An ache in his chest, non related to the miniaturised arch reactor, made him take a deep breath whenever he allowed his thoughts to stray to his father figure. Along with it, a feeling of neglect, never being good enough and being unwanted, with it. That, he knew, stemmed well before Obadiah and lay with his parents. But that was another matter for another day.

Or not at all, Tony thought, shaking his head to rid himself of such burdening mental stirrings as the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened to a vast and paparazzi crowded foyer.

Not waiting for the compartment to fully open, Tony squeezed through the growing gap and ducked his head down, reaching into his blazer pocket and pulling out his shades to place over the bridge of his nose. As cameras began to flash and microphones started to appear in front of him, two large arms folded behind him protectively, his two bodyguards stepping in place at both his sides instantaneously. They kindly held their other arms out, suppressing and forbidding members of the press from getting too close to the engineer.

They led him to the buildings front door. Tony ignored the many questions being bombarded at him in quick and rapid succession, pushing through the door and walking calmly outside. He could see Happy Hogan standing beside his ride, with his cheap suit and his hands folded neatly out in front of him. 

“Sir,” he greeted warily, eyeing the growing chaos unfolding and following his boss with mounting caution.

He reached for the door handle when Tony didn’t slow or stop to greet him in return, not hesitating in swinging it open as he drew close.

As the billionaire dropped himself with a heavy shuffle into the back seat, Happy closed it firmly before climbing into the driver’s seat, sorting himself out to prepare the car whilst dropping what he thought were sly glances into the rear view mirror.

“Take it you dropped some kind of big announcement again, sir?” He began conversationally, starting the engine and driving away, heading for the highway.

As the shouting, flashes and bodyguards faded from view, Tony glanced from the tinted window to his driver and friend. One of the very few he trusted that came to mind during his thinking only moments earlier.

“Biggest yet, I’d wager,” he proclaimed blandly, a finality to his tone that assured he didn’t want to discuss this and simultaneously ensured Happy wouldn’t press or question it further.

With a half nod, half shrug, Happy dutifully kept his eyes on the road and switched the CD player on as they sped off to their destination. With Tony leaning back to recline against the headrest and close his eyes behind their guarded shades as Black Sabbath began to play.

Soon. With no time at all and any well deserved luck, he’ll be back home and after a long relaxing shower, in his workshop pottering away with perhaps one of his many old vintage cars, blasting some heavy metal, winding down with nothing and no one but his bots for company.

Tony smiled behind closed lids.

Of course, life isn’t that simple or ever that kind…


	2. Life is Strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **2018 - Present day. (Post Infinity War & End Game)**

“So, where is it exactly that I’m going, again?” The young Peter Parker asked politely into the cell phone in which he clutched against his left ear. In his right hand he held in his grasp a crinkled piece of paper, sprawled across it in calligraphic black ink, a single address.

Dark eyes remained glued fixatedly to it as short but athletic legs carried the boy through the crowded city streets of New York City.

Peter could feel the soft summer breeze ruffle through his sun kissed hair slightly, mentally swearing he could practically hear the moment the man on the other end of the line must’ve rolled his eyes.

“You got this, kid?” Was the gruff, immediate but sceptical reply to his question.

Peter half nodded, left shoulder partly raising in a small shrug, despite knowing the person he was talking to couldn’t see him. “’Course,”

“Sure?”

“Yeah,” Peter laughed nervously.

The voice in his ear sounded amused when it spoke next. “Don’t let me down, Squirt – hey, you asked to be more involved in the whole non-adrenaline, non-combat side of Avenging. Welcome to the team. This is essentially what it consists of. We all have our roles. Like me, I largely and for the most part just build things and pay for everything. Consider this your primary and formal introduction, and first mission solo.”

Peter scoffed incredulously, the laughter genuine and cheek in his tone, a slight challenge underneath. “Yeah, but, to do what exactly? What’s _my_ job?”

The voice on the other end didn’t miss a beat, still entirely entertained. “To help. Isn’t that what you’re always nagging me about wanting to do? What did you think you’d be doing when I asked you to come by this morning?”

Peter cringed, attempting to keep the desperation out of his voice when he responded. “I don’t know Mr. Stark, I was thinking more along the lines of shadowing you in your workshop or something. Watch you work on some of your computers, maybe help you build some suits, study their circuits? Be way better than anything I can find behind any dumpster to play around with.”

Tony was quite on the other end. Peter had no idea if these thoughts had run through the man’s head or not, if even ever. But he thought it worth a shot to air his wishes and opinions, especially if asked. He may never get the opportunity to again. And he had a good report with his mentor. Couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

Almost a minute must’ve gone by in silence. Peter took the phone away from his ear to take a glance at the screen to see if Tony was still on the line. With the confirmation that he was, Peter felt a brush of uncertainty, doubt creeping in to his head that he’d pressed too far or come across ungrateful.

He rubbed the back of his neck, the heat of the mid July sun baring down on him. “Uh…”

“What’s wrong with what you’re doing right now? The air on Titan get to your head, kid?” He quipped, “I’m tellin’ ya, Parker, you gotta fill the cheap seats before you can think about stadiums.”

Snapped so completely out of his reverie, the teenager laughed heartily. “Yeah but, c’mon, I’m practically your delivery boy!”

“And don’t you forget it.” The genius revelled. But after a moment, sobered. “Hey Pete, just so we’re clear—” at the sound of Tony’s voice taking a more serious note once again, the younger man subconsciously stood up straighter, smile beginning to dim, “—what you’re delivering to these guys, if fallen into the wrong hands... Doesn’t bare thinking about.”

“Got it, Mr. Stark.” Peter concluded, confidence and pride beginning to return to him. It was after all, still a mission and task. And he was asked by Tony Stark himself to follow this one through personally. “No pressure,” he muttered.

“So,” the man continued, “talk to me kid, you’re in Greenwich now, yeah?”

Looking up with just a second to spare and narrowly dodging the lamp post in front of him, Peter pulled the duffle bag he was carrying over one shoulder across his body, so it lay diagonally and proportioned the weight a bit more evenly. He protectively laid the hand carrying the piece of paper atop the strap, raising his head to take in his surroundings.

“Yeah, just looking for the right street sign now.”

Crossing the current street he was on at the pedestrian crossing, the hair on the back of his neck took a sudden stance and reared up. In his peripheral vision he quickly saw some modern and brand new motorcycles fast approaching to his right. The older kids astride them lost to his own existence in their ignorance and conversation with each other.

Not thinking and reacting entirely on instinct, Peter held his breath and did the first thing that occurred to him. Grasping the bag dangling from his shoulder with his free palm and bending his knees, he launched himself into the sky at an arch. Peter flipped his body backwards in the air with a smoothness matched only to an Olympian and landed gracefully back on his feet without visibly breaking a sweat. It was the perfect backflip. Not even a shoelace out of line.

Exhaling, Peter watched the bikes speed off around a corner, the kids riding them not for a second slowing down to review what could’ve been a fatal accident due to their own recklessness.

He held the phone back to his ear, shaking his head, eyes still glued to the corner the bikes had sped past and round. “Hey Mr. Stark, didn’t anyone ever tell you that being in the air is like, the safest form of transport? I mean, you ought’a know...”

As if the man could see first hand the inspired smirk that grew across the kid’s face, Tony shut down that though before it could spurt any further.

“Kids,” the billionaire admonished teasingly. “No self-control these days. Spidey feet stay planted firmly on the ground for this one, Major Tom. Simple drop and delivery. No web action required.”

Peter chortled a tickled sound of disbelief on his next exhale, spotting a sign and quickly making his way to the end of the following street. He straightened the hood of his navy hoody; the jump having distorted it about of place a little.

“Yeah, no problem. But when I’m done here Sir, we are totally updating your DVD collection.”

“Call me Sir again Pipsqueak and I’m making you sit through it.”

“Pfft,” Peter grinned, eyes full of mirth with the back and forth banter.

“And it’s music, little-boy-genius. Classic. _Bowie_.”

“ _Gazuntite_.”

The sound of a tired overdramatised sigh was his only reply. Peter’s smile grew more sweet and welcome. He’d won this round.

Coming to a slow now, he was rounding a corner onto a new street. Peter’s eyes sought out the sign.

“Bleecker, finally.” He stated to the cell in his hand.

“Good work, Pete. Now look for 177A. Should be at the end of the road, if memory serves.”

Peter frowned, hesitating in his strides as the end of the way grew nearer. “You don’t remember?”

“Hard to recall entirely when the first and last time I was there the Earth was, you know, invaded.”

“Right, yeah,” Peter interjected and grimaced awkwardly. Those weren’t any kind of memories he wished to relive anytime soon. “Sorry.”

The house at the end of the street, if you could call it a house by name, came into Peter’s complete view very quickly. It was huge, hard to miss and full of awe and spectacle. It held a certain old age to it, towering over the nearby and conjoining housing in its surroundings by at least a story or two. Windows and pillars by the tens, twenties, broke up the architecture in assorted and mathematical structure. This place was as tall as it was wide, styled with old fashion brickwork and metal lining the top story.

Young, big brown eyes overlooked the construction before them in confused intrigue, curiously drawn to the giant circular window amidst the centre of the top story of the large stately house.

Not utterly convinced he was in the right place, the boy enquired to the man over the phone aloud. “Are-are you sure, Mist–?”

Tony’s voice spoke instantly, interrupting the teenager without preamble. “Big spooky Victorian looking house that seems as if it could go a few rounds with an atomic Dyson and one of my best contractors? Yep, congrats, you found it.”

“ _This_ is Doctor Strange’s digs?”

Mistaking the kids awe and interest with the utmost _dis_ interest, Peter could hear the shrug in Tony’s voice. “I know, no accounting for taste. It’s bigger on the inside, not my style, but not so bad.”

“So, do I just have to walk inside and…?” Peter started, motioning pointlessly to the building.

“I mean, one could almost call it rustic. If old fashioned and Dickensian furnishing is your style…”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter prompted, cajoling the man out of his ramblings, nerves steadily calming as he listened to the inane babbling.

“Yeah, knock, whatever. Just make sure Strange gets the bag.”

Peter nodded, psyching himself up to meet once again with one of the worlds – neigh, _realms_ – most magically talented wonderers and protectors.

“On your best behaviour, Parker, don’t go embarrassing me in front of the wizards.” Tony advised, only half pleading. Must’ve been on the same trail of thought as himself.

Peter waved dismissively with his free hand, climbing the steps onto the threshold to the large door, peering into one of the large opaque windows closest to him but the glass being too dark for him to see much of anything. “No problem Mr. Stark, we’re cool, remember?”

Tony waited a beat to reply. “Just represent,” he quipped, “and I’ll throw a free lab tour to ya when you get back.”

“Oh, no way!” Peter laughed, words loud with enthusiastic contentment. “Really?”

“Yeah, why not. I got a few hours to kill before Pep gets back from the store and bores me with all the baby prep she’s learning. Since when did you have to babyproof things? Since when is that a thing?”

Peter’s grin grew, stretching his cheeks widely in happy mirth. “Since forever, even _I_ know that,” he shook his head as he listened to the man grumble unintelligibly for a reply. “Lab tour though... _Yes_. Thanks so much Mr. Stark!”

“Gotta finish up and get back first. Clock’s a’tickin, Parker,” Tony affirmed gospely, signalling an end to the conversation.

“Shouldn’t take too long now I’m here. And don’t worry Mr. Stark, you’re gonna make an awesome dad. I know. Trust me.”

Silence in which you could hear a pin drop was his answer to that one. Peter pursed his lips slightly, having the growingly distinct feeling and knowledge that he was making his mentor uncomfortable with his sincere compliment. And just may have surprised the man with it, too. But hey, the truth was the truth.

He didn’t wait long for a response, not wanting to torment the guy any further and quickly following up with a teasing remark. “Totally gonna hold you to that lab tour so you don’t forget.”

He was pleasantly surprised when the words that followed seemed to be carried away by the wind, kind as well as startling. “Kid, trust _me_ , where you’re concerned, there’s no chance in forgetting.”

A dial tone followed those warm words. The double meaning to them wasn’t lost on Peter. He smiled down at his cell phone’s screen before he pocketed the device.

His stomach felt as though they were now doing their own back flips. _A guided lab tour to Mr. Stark's personal labs! Whoa! Gotta hurry up here so I can get back._

Straightening up, Peter readied himself and ran a hand through his messy brown hair before he knocked on the large front door, bag of soon to be delivered goods resting heavy across his shoulders.

The door creaked to a small opening, no one stood behind it. Brows narrowing slightly in perplexion, Peter hovered a palm against the wood of the door and pushed. It crept open more still, enough for the teenager to slip through and into the house, closing it behind him.

A long and large wooden staircase greeted him immediately and up above him, more of the same surrounded. A circular round patterned and shaped floor caught his attention next. Well decorated, indeed.

Clearing his throat, Peter let his eyes roam around the entirety of the foyer before taking a few hesitant steps towards the great timber steps. “Hello?” The boy called, not with timid softness. “Mr—Dr. Strange?”

Receiving no answer, Peter tried once more, this time with intoned ironic humour. “It’s Peter. Parker. Express delivery! Sorry it’s not takeaway.”

Sparks began to erupt and combust out of the air, bright and orange in their intensity. With them, a circular orange and gold ring started to form, growing progressively bigger and denser, the movement and sound almost hypnotic in their trance like random arrival.

Peter watched, fascinated and captivated as Doctor Strange stepped out of the void and came into view, a charming half smile gracing his lips. He was suited in his usual blue attire, drops of fallen snow he’d brought with him through his portal dissolving wetly into his red cape that was billowing in an almost, Peter wanted to think, jovial way behind him.

“Ah, _Spider-Man_ ,” Strange quipped in greeting. “Wondered when you’d arrive. As always, nice to see you.”

Peter’s grin couldn’t be contained. “Awesome. That _so_ never gets old. Where were you? Where’d you just come from?” He chanced a glance behind the good doctor to get a view of what he otherwise wouldn’t believe he’d seen if hadn’t had just. But to his dismay, the portal was already dissolving and combusting seemingly spontaneously, sparks minimalizing into nothingness once more.

“You have something for me?” Strange asked in comeback, lips still quirked at the corner, deflective of any attention upon himself or his tricks.

Peter stared at him for a moment, side tracked, neck inclined in the air between the height of them. “Oh, right. Yeah.” He dropped his gaze downward and made to reach for the duffle bag. “Mr. Stark asked me to bring you this. Said it was important I hand it to you directly.” The boy expressed, ducking his head to lift the heavy strap over it.

Arm now outstretched, strap gripped tightly in his hands grasp, Peter smiled humbly as Stephen reached out to take the object from him.

“And right he was,” Stephen replied in agreement, surprising himself in his own admittance of anything Stark would be correct about. He motioned to the bag. “If these fell into the wrong hands—”

“I know, I know,” Peter interjected, nodding. “Doesn’t bare thinking about.”

“Right again,” Strange grinned, marginally impressed and humoured. “He said you were smart.”

“He did?” Peter pondered aloud, proudly stunned into silence for once, shifting his weight from one foot to the other bashfully.

Lifting the bag and reaching for the zipper, the doctor pulled it open, reaching inside the bag to bring out one of the objects as example.

He pulled an old, battered and torn folder from the folds of the duffle bag at random. ‘S.H.E.I.L.D.’ Peter nodded, understanding that whatever was in that file and in the rest of the bag was obviously top secret and being given to Doctor Strange for the ultimate safe keeping.

With a wave of the doctor’s hand, the bag he was holding and with all its contents appeared to materialise quickly into nothingness, just like the portal moments ago.

Where it’d gone, Peter didn’t know. And judging the mystery behind it all and no doubt complexity, he doubted he wanted to find out. But still, he was awed and floored by the demonstration of power and magic.

“Awesome,” he remarked with a nod of his head, eyes drawing back up to the wizard’s face, inspired.

Sharp and not so distant gunfire interrupted their calm silence and caught both their attention before Strange could reply, accompanied by the quickly approaching sound of sirens.

“What was that?” Peter questioned rhetorically instead, aloud, face and stance adjusting instinctively in preparation of the expected unexpected.

His fingers readied themselves, mentally thanking himself that he remembered to put on his suit this morning, gloves and mask in his front jeans pockets. 

“Hurry! Hide in there! Bet they won’t think to look in a place as old as this…”

Peter’s neck spun quickly to gage the reaction of his colleague, observing the calculating gaze the man wore whilst they listened to fast impending footsteps, then glanced quickly to the large front door he’d previously just walked through.

“Are they coming this way? Here?” He asked Strange, a little anxious now, yet holding his head high, brave.

“Time for you to leave, I think,” the doctor replied hastily after turning thoughtfully and eyeing him up for a moment, once again ignoring the young man’s questioning.

“No, wait, what?” Peter protested, flabbergasted by the decision. “If they’re coming this way, I can help! You know I can.”

Strange’s eyes narrowed minutely at this, refusing to deny the comment or concede and admit it. He instead nodded instructively behind him towards the back rooms of the building in a gesture with his head, indicating he was to follow and get himself to safety. “You’ve helped already, immensely, and I’m very thankful.”

Peter began to shake his head decidedly, perplexed and obstinately objecting again. 

“But—”

The doors swung open with a loud crash, bright sunlight from the streets streaking through the open space and almost blinding the pair in their sudden intensity.

Shadows stepped over the threshold, the outline of dark figures coming to a standstill. The sound of sirens could be heard loudly now as police cars began to circle their location, the harsh breathing of the intruders silenced in their surprise at seeing the occupants.

For just a moment, a quiet like no other seemed to envelop the room as the good doctor and his young companion stood rooted the floor, waiting to see who’d be making the first move.

Evidentially, the perpetrators didn’t seem to think this building was at all inhabited when choosing a scape goat.

But they were in fact wrong. And eventually, stance tall and straight, dark navy robes not a wrinkle out of line and cloak effortlessly standing to attention, Stephen Strange stepped forward to address the men. Looked like six, his eyes counted quickly. He took no heed of the guns raised to face him in retaliation, only taking another step forward.

“I’m afraid you’re all breaking and entering and now not only that, but trespassing on private property. I’m going to have to ask you all to leave. I suggest you turn around and do so, quietly.”

The sirens grew steadily louder, rounding the corner at the end of the street. The men in the doorway didn’t move a muscle, aside from their heavily heaving chests as they gulped down lungsful of needed air. The click of the safety mechanism of the weapons they were carrying sounded one after the other to indicate they were being deactivated. Not going anywhere. A challenge.

Making up his mind without conscious thought, Peter boldly took a step forward, aiming for a nonchalant distraction and now once again standing to the side of Strange.

“Means you’re not welcome here, criminal dudes.” He added, shrugging helplessly and satirically to the invaders.

The police cars came to a screeching halt not three properties away, heavy vehicle doors opening and closing in a loud flurry, forcing everyone into reckless and defensive action. In what could only be a few seconds, chaos erupted.

From the six fully grown and dangerous men, they recklessly charged toward them and the large wooden staircase to hopefully their freedom, stopping at nothing. Peter and Strange the only things in their way. The loud crack of bullets sounded quickly after, in a panicked mixture of quick succession and in separate bursts.

Peter jumped at the noise, ducking slightly and raising his arms above his head instinctively when the shots sounded.

Smoke from the guns began to fill the space surrounding them all in the large open foyer before Peter could fully comprehend or process anything. With his ears ringing, he chanced dropping his arms and quickly readied himself for a fist against gun fight.

Odds are against him by stature and number, he knew this, but what else is he to do when six large burly and homicidal men were about to tackle him to the ground, if they didn’t shoot him first?

His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline souring as he felt breezing air rush past him in a zipping sound, a bullet missing his head by mere inches. He spun in that direction swiftly, jumping backwards and back arching, reactions and reflexes heightened and quicker than average due to his abilities.

Witnessing the man who’s shot at him turn his attention to his friend and aim his gun, Peter shuddered in horror. Turning his head, he watched in almost slow motion as the doctor, now to the far right by the wall to him and obliviously contesting in a fight of sorts with one of the other weapon wielders and trespassers, endured a strong kick from the big strong guy which brought him momentarily to his knees.

Peter countered impulsively. He didn’t have a gun, this was true, but he had his own weapon.

“Hey! Watch out!” He cried to his friend as he shot his arm out, robust synthetic webbing firing from his wrist and rapidly flying through the air to attach itself to the front of the criminals gun, just as the man had squeezed the trigger and fired. The firing of the gun amounted to nothing but sound and smoke. Peter exhaled in relief. The barrier that had wrapped itself around the weapon had worked.

Unfortunately, it had also garnered the attention of mostly everyone in the room.

Stephen turned to him with wide eyes, gratitude and concern the things most evident Peter could see reflected there.

He barked a relieved laugh, nodding to the gun in the man’s hand across from him. “Always saving the wizard. Hey, maybe _that’s_ my job.” He mused.

He didn’t have chance to reflect or laugh at his own inside joke however, because all the offenders turned to him and raised their weapons, approaching, enraged and, if Peter dared let himself believe, a little frightened. He supposed he would be too, if someone shot a spider’s web at him from seemingly their body.

Peter had just enough time to gulp before the noise and shouting engulfed them once more and only grew as armed police by the dozen began to run through the entrance and into the room.

Once again, a chaos like no other ensued. Stood almost still like a statue and still in the open and in front of the stairs, shock and concussive sound brought Peters palms to his ears. A gunfight looked to be the outcome of this unfortunately, Peter concluded as he watched in a morbid like horror, the police ducking behind objects and taking fire at the criminals firing back.

A shout from his right and from a voice he almost didn’t recognise came loud enough to just be heard over the complete pandemonium. Squinting and gritting his teeth, hands still pressed over his ears, the teenager glanced through the fogged smoke to catch Strange’s eye again. He was making a wide swooshing gesture with his palm, mouth moving to form speech he couldn’t even begin to fathom to make out.

Peter stared dumbfoundedly at him, uncomprehending. One word sounded through the cracks and whips of shooting. 

“ _Move!_ ”

Peter’s breathing slowed a little, almost to a stop as it sunk in. Stood in the centre of the room, wearing dark jeans and a navy hoody, he dropped a hand from his head and grasped at his t-shirt. It too was dark, with a patterned chemical equation printed on the front. Was it possible the police couldn’t see him through the billows of thickening smoke? And that’s why they were still shooting not twenty feet from him? He’s a civilian, for Christs sake.

He started to feel a little woozy on his feet, like the ground was sinking below him. He was still staring openly but vacantly at Strange. Sparks jumping up from his peripheral vison and landing on his clothed arms snapped him out of his shock.

He took in a large breath, spots receding from his gaze and regaining his senses. He was watching the doctor now as the man held his hands up, one beginning to rotate, the other facing with his palm outwards towards him. His face seemed thoughtful and sombre, jaw set, eyes hard.

Peter pondered inquisitively, his brow knitting in question. He knew that face, those gestures. Around and below him, bright orange sparks formed into something more wide and circular.

A sudden small exhaled groan of pain and exertion fell from his soft lips as he felt something with sharp force pierce through the comfort of his clothes high up through his left arm, pain radiating through his shoulder and entire limb, almost doubling him over.

And as it hit him, as he realised what he should’ve but too late, he felt the floor beneath his feet whipped out from under him. His stomach jumping up to only drop as he follows it and falls through the portal. Doctor Strange, the intruders, the police and the wonderous Sanctum Sanctorum fading quickly from view. He fell through it, disorientated, trickles of warm liquid blood rolling down his sleeve and over his nimble fingers.


	3. Crazy, confused, concussed, corrupted, or just plain convoluted?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **2008 – Tony Stark’s Malibu Mansion, later that same day as the conference.**

Tony Stark took a deep breath, his feet taking the spiral steps two at a time from the open dining and lounge area of his Malibu beach house and down, leading to his basement slash workshop.

He’d quickly bid goodbye to Happy Hogan, his chauffer and all but ran steadfast into the inside sanctuary of his home. Closing the large front door behind him, he was greeted immediately with the comfortingly familiar sound of Javirs’ jovial voice.

“Good morning again, Sir.” He’d happily intoned.

Tony hadn’t stopped, and had already unbuttoned the cuffs at bottom corners of his shirt sleeves as he’d headed upstairs to change into something more comfortable and informal.

“Hey, J,” he’d met in return, somewhat absentmindedly.

“Would you like me to set a reminder for your next board meeting later in the afternoon?” Jarvis had asked kindly.

Tony’s footing had faltered, just as he’d reached the master bedroom. He’d entirely forgotten about the meetings he’d scheduled later in the afternoon. With all the excitement post his rather large announcement, one could hardly have blamed him.

“Uh,” he’d mulled it over in his brain as he’d opened his bedroom door and pushed it wide open. Making a beeline straight to his modern and spacious closet, he’d pulled out some faded jeans and a dark old t-shirt. One in which he wouldn’t mind getting covered in oil and dirt.

“Tell ya what, J,” Tony had started, having made up his mind. For the last hour or so previous to this, on his drive over here from the conference, he’d already decided that he was done for the day and wanted to work on either his bots, his suits, or his hot rods, needing the distraction and down time. “Go ahead and inform Pepper that I won’t be able to make those other meeting and briefings today, etcetera and yadda yadda.” Punctuating his words with a flippant wave of his hand, Tony proceeded to quickly change, throwing his designer, discarded suit down onto his bed with a shrug. _Someone will get it._

“Very good, Sir.” Jarvis had replied. And if Tony didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn he heard a touch of disapproval in the A.I’s quality of voice. _I know_ , he’d thought to himself. _May as well hand over the company to Pep at this point._

He was now at the bottom of the spiralled staircase, clean clothed and feeling more like himself. No more hiding. Not anymore. And not here. Entering the code to unlock the workshops glass door, it opened brusquely with a swooshing sound.

“J, hit the lights, would ya, buddy?” The engineer called, striding over – once the many little bulbs blinked with running electricity – to his welding tools and surveying the open and large engine left on the ground beside one of his many workstations.

He picked up a face and neck shield guard, also planted next to his tools and gloves, and many other equipment, feeling a welcomed and familiar smirk begin to curve his lips, his tense shoulders beginning to relax somewhat.

“Lock the doors, J,” Tony spoke softly, knowing the A.I could still hear him. Better safe than sorry. Especially now the world new he spent time flying around in a titanium alloyed suit. Gotta keep the crazies at bay somehow. “Windows, gates, yard, vents, usual shindig. Do not disturb kinda vibe, or whatever other setting I’ve given you program for.”

“Of course; security systems activating as we speak.” Jarvis dutifully informed his master. “And of Ms. Potts, Sir?”

Tony didn’t hesitate to reply, carrying his welding materials and safety gear to his spot beside the rusted and soon to be rebuilt motor engine, “Well yeah, ‘cept her. But only her.” He landed with a plop down on his stool, free hand running across the top of the twisted metal, feeling its cold surface and grinning. “It _is_ play time, after all.”

-

Peter landed with a crash onto flat and hard, cold wooden flooring. Head spinning after it too, smacked back against the flooring. He could feel above all else, his whole arm now pulsing and throbbing. He remained lying stationary and waited for his stomach to settle before opening his tightly shut eyes.

Breathing harshly through his nose and out through his mouth, the teenager centred himself as his fists unclenches and grasped for purchase against the wood he was laying upon, palms sweaty.

Very slowly, Peter allowed his eyes to peel open with a grimace. Pristine, clean, flat and large white panelled ceiling greeted him. His sharp and enhanced sense of hearing could pick up the sounds of not too distant crashing waves. Almost as if crashing against rocks. And less distantly, the pitter-patter sound of running water, instinctively Peter would say it sounded like a fountain. Summer sun coming through somewhere - a window? - Peter guessed, quickly warmed his clammy skin and heated the blood still slowly trickling down his arm, now starting to stick to his hoody and show through the dark navy colour.

He blinked a few times in quick fire succession, his grimace morphing into a frown as he made a move to sit up and take in his surroundings, the adrenaline he was feeling mere moments ago flailing and leaving him feeling tired and confused.

Peter quickly regretted the decision when his vision doubled. He brought a hand up to the side of his temple, leaning into his hand, fingers in his hair and grasping tight to remind him of reality before travelling to the back of his head where the pain was most prominent.

“Gah, my head,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his skull now with the ends of his fingertips softly, feeling a bump start to swell. “Great,” he muttered moodily. “Need to work on the dismount, dude! Other than that, you get Olympic gold!” He shouted, loud enough for Strange to hear, however to no avail. Opening his eyes finally, now that the quick dizzy spell had faded, he looked around in search for the wizard. But no sign of him. And the portal he’d been dropped into momentarily ago had quickly vanished after he’d fallen through it, no sign it had ever been there in the first place.

Peter felt his breathing begin to pick up without any conscious thought to control it. He glanced around him, wide eyes taking in the room he found himself still sitting on the floor in. Vast open landscape and design, expensive white modern features and furniture, incredible open glass panels that made up walls all lay bare before his brown and searching eyes, all leading to a view of the wide open and deep ocean, the sun bare and shining above it.

He didn’t know where to look first, it all being so large and fine. The piano immediately caught his eye, large, grand and dark. And behind it, a bar stocked full with bottles he didn’t know the labels of and didn’t care to find out.

Swallowing inaudibly and quite still dazed, Peter took a few calming breaths, allowing the throbbing pulse of his arm to ground him in his budding inner panic. Tearing his eyes away from the instrument, his eyes followed the steps that lead down towards a hanging indoor carefully crafted, half-moon waterfall. Centred in the middle was what looked to be a piece of art. And circling in dwindled fashion above, below and around the waterfall were some more white steps. Stairs, that lead, presumably, underground somewhere.

Peter turned his eyes away. It was all slightly too much and overwhelming to look at. Whoever owned this place has style. And money.

Making a move to stand, Peter grunted and clutched at his injured arm to hold it tight. His fingers met the torn fabric of his hoody and t-shirt underneath. _Should be thankful it just grazed me, I guess,_ he thought, aiming for positivity but missing his mark.

He watched the clear blue sky up above him blend with the meeting of the crystal-clear sea. Straight out in front of him. Was this building, this place, hovering about water?

“Whoa. Seriously man, where did he send me?”

“Good morning,” a loud automated voice intoned, seemingly from all directions.

Peter started, hand going straight from his arm to clench over his heart, pulse and blood pressure jumping into high levels in an instant, even quite quick for his mutated genetics to cope and keep up with.

With a dizziness which was freshly becoming an adapted trait, Peters brain tried to keep up with his eyes as he attempted to locate the source of the voice.

“Who—?” Shaking his head as slowly as he dared, Peter stated again. “Where, am I?”

Immediately his question was answered, the clear and, British, Peter noted, voice began to speak from all around him again.

“You are in Malibu, California. It’s nearly eleven forty-five am, the weather is eighty-one degrees with clear skies. Would you like to hear the surfing recommendations?”

He couldn’t process the weather or much else, too busy choking on his airway as he struggled to bring much needed air into his lungs. He stopped listening after hearing his location, truth be told.

“Malibu?! That’s— I’m in _California_? Oh my god, I’m supposed to be the other side of the country... How am I—where—what do I—?”

Peter stuttered, trying to make sense of how and when his life became so complicated. And when it started to become a regularity and not so unexpected anymore.

He lifted his hand, the one not throbbing with pain due to a bullet skimming his arm not fifteen minutes ago, and ran it down his sweaty and pale face. “Oh man,” he groaned wearily, “What am I doing here?”

“I’d quite like to know the answer to that, myself.”

Peter spun on his heels, startled for what seemed like the millionth time in less than a few minutes, all panic dropping from his face and his features almost instantaneously when he saw the speaker.

“Mr. Stark!” He breathed in smiled relief, almost with a laugh.

Tony Stark; engineer, famous billionaire and newly introduced philanthropist, self-proclaimed superhero and recently self-professed new man, watched the boy avidly, stopped in his tracks and perplexed by the kid’s appearance as well as his behaviour, more than a little curious about him.

“How’d you get in here?” He asked outright, manner light as if discussing the weather, keeping his distance but eyes remaining fixed on him, hand lazily outstretched and finger pointed out towards him, accusatory and yet nonchalant.

Peter frowned at the man not even a hundred feet away from him. It was Tony alright, but something was different with him, odd. But for the life of him, he couldn’t put his finger on what. His hair was a bit longer, darker, he looked the same if a bit younger, like he had fewer laughter marks around his eyes. Less thin, less warn by the troubles and losses he’d faced and endured over the years, perhaps.

“I...” Peter gaped at him, at a loss of sorts. Where does he even begin to explain? And what was Tony doing here? How’d he get here so quickly from New York?

The man’s growing frown at the silence and lack of reply being displayed from him started to make Peter feel anxious. He couldn’t shake the feeling something was terribly, horribly, and irrevocably off about this whole situation. His relief started to slowly sink.

Rolling his eyes at the lack of response, Tony obviously grew bored for he tore his eyes away from Peter and made his way from the steps by the waterfall (where he’d climbed the stairs and appeared from) and reached the bar just beside it, side stepping the piano.

“Jarvis, how’d he get in here?”

Peter was struck out of his thoughts by this blatant display of dismissal. He frowned at his mentor, his friend, taking a step forward to achieve some sense of comfort as he felt his chest constricting with the stress that was quickly mounting above his heart.

Tony didn’t give Jarvis time to rely, quickly spinning on the backs of his heels to face the kid again. “Props go to you for getting past my mainframe, alarms and security procedures, I’ll give you that.”

Peter shook his head, trying to shake the cobwebs – no pun intended – momentarily forgetting about his headache and resulting in exacerbating it tenfold. His brown eyes found Tony’s, desperation meeting unimpressed sort of hindered boredom, and the feeling that something was seriously wrong here hit him again, only deeper.

“Mr Stark... What, what’re you doing here? What is this place? Why’re we here? Did he send you here, too?”

Tony took a step closer, engaged once again and eyes back to being alight with curiosity, ignoring what he thought were the kid’s methods of misdirection. “More importantly, you should tell me – before I call the cops – I’m dying to know and I’m sure you’re equally just dying to tell me; how’d you get past Jarvis? From one genius to another, c’mon, you can tell me.”

Peter’s brain ran a mile a minute. Confused and not sure what part of Tony’s statement to respond to, he centred on the last bit his brain managed to catch. “I don’t... Jarvis? Who’s—wait, genius?”

“Changed my mind!” Tony whipped around eccentrically from looking at his collection of alcohol, shrugging and starting to step slowly closer to the teenager. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll get J to show me video recordings later. Gonna need ‘em for your trial.”

At Peter’s dumbfounded look and pained expression, Tony rolled his eyes.

“What, you think you get to walk away, no questions asked after breaking and entering into private land? I’ll admit I’ve changed a lot recently, but not enough to allow kids to come by, break in, presumably take whatever they want and then hit the road again.”

Peter pushed both hands out in front of him, breathing heavily again, shallowly and deeply to make everything stop and make some of all this hopefully make sense. “Breaking and entering?” He repeated, tone quiet and monotonous. He opened his eyes once more, wide, finding Tony now standing a few feet away from him. “And, and stealing? F-from you? Mr. Stark, I’ve never stolen anything.” He implored. Then, on second thoughts, tilted his head in acceptance as it hit him – he wasn’t exactly telling the truth.

“Well, except for the cool stuff like the hard drives I find in the trash sometimes. But that’s trash, so not technically stealing. Oh, and there was that one time I took Captain America’s shield at the airport a few years ago, which was totally cool by the way.” He relented, voice guilt ridden. He quickly lodged an accusatory finger at Tony, however. “But _you_ asked me to do that. So technically, I haven’t stolen anything, really. Well, anything that I wasn’t meant to. For the greater good. And _definitely_ never off of you. I’d never do that. You know it’s not me. And not after all you’ve done for me.”

Tony regarded the boy with quiet contemplation. If he was feeling anything other than bewilderment and confusion, he didn’t show it. This close to the man, Peter could make out an anxious sort of unknown wariness he’d only seen on the man’s face a handful of times. And never before directed at him.

Tony opened his mouth, battling with something he clearly wanted to say, then closed it, instead regarding the kid again and pursing his lips.

Peter’s brow rose in question, his fluttering heart and stomach caught in limbo, his body ready to fight or flight, returning adrenaline not unwelcome in all this confusion and fog.

Tony, in contrast, simply shook his head and seemed to come to some sort of internal decision or agreement.

“Captain America’s shield, huh?” He stated rhetorically, voice defective of emotion.

Peter nodded anyway.

“So, you’re clearly a fan of mine and or, my fathers, not just any random break in,” Tony concluded. “Obviously you come with delusions, but kudos to you for getting hold of _that_ information. That shield and everything about it is guarded and private info. I’m not sure I want to know exactly how you know about it... But still…” He rattled off.

Peter’s heart finally dropped into his stomach. Why was he being this way? Was this some sort of joke, some sick prank? Had he messed up back at the Sanctum, and Strange and Stark were punishing him?

“But, sorry not sorry kid, no autographs today. I’ll let you off as a warning if you leave now and never step within a hundred foot of me again. That’s more than generous. Consider yourself lucky you caught me on a good day.”

The absurdity of it all, the sheer craziness. Peter laughed. He stared at Tony Stark, reluctant to believe what he was hearing for a second. This was a prank, he concluded, it must be. But he refused to give in so easily and challenged him in return, asking the first thing that came to his mind. “What?”

Stark’s deadly serious face was his only response. He was back to not looking very impressed and borderline put out and annoyed, now.

Peter frowned, the laughter draining from his being, confused. Sincerely, heart in his throat, he took a faltering and wavering step towards the man. “Wait, you’re serious? What-?” Laughing nervously, Peter felt his eyes water, his stomach churn, “Mr Stark, this isn’t funny, I don’t really know what’s going on here?”

Stark shrugged, nonplussed. “That makes two of us. Now scram kid, before I really do call the cops.”

The throbbing Peter felt in his arm seemed to no longer be localised to that one area. He now felt his ears pound and heart beat in sync to it all.

“Mr stark... I don’t...”

Peter knew he was borderline hyperventilating. He continued to shake his head, eyes finding something solid and familiar to focus on and ground him. His attention is quickly drawn to the light emitting from Tony’s chest through the man’s dirt, oil and grime covered t-shirt.

No. What? That isn’t right. That isn’t meant to be there anymore. How has he only just noticed it?

Tony, affronted, self-conscious and more than a little done with this entire situation and conversation, pulled the zip on his hoody up more, hiding the glow. “What?” He demands, “Don’t get a good enough look on the news?”

Caught off guard by the blunt snap of words, Peter swallowed. “That’s the...? But you... You had surgery to... Why is...?”

Peter staggers to the side before catching his footing, lightheaded, breathing still abnormally fast.

“Mr. Stark... Why are we in Malibu? Why am I—why are _you_ in Malibu?”

Tony scoffed non-committedly, bodily marginally pissed but facial expression changing to one of mild concern and alert, observing the child and his unsettled footing. “Dunno about you, Home Invader, but I live here.”

Peter stumbles again, turning, legs shaking, clutching at his throbbing temple as it pulses hot and painful. “No, you—you live in... We...New Y—This can’t be real. This has gotta be a dream.”

Tony looks alarmed now, dark wide eyes finally spotting the tear in the kid’s clothes at his arm and the dark stain of blood saturated around it. Unsure at this point whether to sound the alarms or carry this through and take the kid to their ER. Home invader, crazy, thief or no, this was still a kid, someone’s kid, somebody’s somebody and clearly very hurt and genuinely confused. This was no prank. The idea it might’ve been left his head as quickly as it entered it. No one is _that_ good an actor. And so, he couldn’t leave him, send him on his way and sleep at night having done nothing to help. Maybe the old him could, but not now. Not after what he’d gone through the last few months. Sue him, but he was no longer that cold hearted bastard who made and sold weapons of destruction to the highest bidder, no concern for the consequences.

“Hey,” he gentled, taking another step so he was within reach of Peter, catching his trembling shoulder, “You skip your meds, kid? Took one stroll too far from the hospital?” It alerted Tony to the severity of what’s happening only when he realised that only part of him was joking. And the larger part of him was spooked and genuinely scared for the kid.

Peter looked brokenly up through wet lashes to Tony, hurt in his eyes at the words his mentor is saying, and saying with no apparent recollection in his watchful and serious gaze. His knees start to buckle violently as his breathing shallowly began to deepen. He just couldn’t catch his breath, the frightened look he was sure was in his eyes, not going amiss.

“Whoa, kid, calm down. C’mon. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” Tony exhales as he quickly steps forward once more and catches the boy around his midsection as he finally relents and falls.

“I believe he is having a panic attack, Sir.” Jarvis. As informative and useless as ever. _Nice of you to finally speak up!_ The engineer thought impractically.

“Ya think, J?” He all but barked, draping the kids’ good arm over his shoulder and proceeding to make his way to the large and many couches the far side of the room.

“Stop.” Peter protested feebly, eyes squeezed shut and palm pressed against his head as his feet struggled to bare his weight and catch up with Tony’s larger strides. “What’s—... Who is that? That voice I keep hearing... It sounds like...”

“Jarvis,” Tony huffed in reply. _In for a penny, in for a pound, right?_ “Runs the place. Artificial intelligence. Sort of. One day, hopefully. But that’s as little as you need to know.” Tony grunted as he began to lower the kid onto the cushions.

“Like Friday? Like Karen?” Peter asked hopefully, distracted, settling into the couch, pain and exhaustion clouding his brain almost entirely now.

With no reply, he opened an eye and observed the blank look again of a man at a complete loss of comprehension.

Peter’s core dropped. No recognition or recollection at all. He allowed his tired eyes to close, struggling with an almighty strength to keep them open any longer.

“Sure,” Tony finally responded with a nod. He knelt on one knee and shook the kid slightly to try and get a reaction out of him, to get both his eyes open and some coherency. “Look, kid, something’s clearly not right with you here. I think you need to go to a hospital. Is that–“ he stopped abruptly, close enough to properly examine the child’s upper arm, the tear in his skin and trickle of blood that dribbled and flowed from it. He recognised a mark, a wound, like that. He’d never forget it. “Were you...” he hesitated, not sure if he’d like or want to hear the answer. “… Shot?”

“You don’t...” Peter started, ignoring, or rather, not hearing the older man. His breath stuttered, shallow.

“What?”

“Don’t remember...”

“What don’t you remember?” Tony asked, trying to keep the kid awake as he slowly began to sink into the many cushions below him, beside his temporary ward.

“No... _You_ d-don’t... Said… Wouldn’t forget…”

“Ok, alright,” Tony hushed, muttering. Being agreeable is always best with a mentally malfunctioning person. Even if it was a kid you just met, beginning to bleed out on your couch.

“Why?”

Sighing, Tony made a move to stand, glancing around for the first aid kit Pepper always kept around. Maybe he could stitch up the kids’ skin to stem the blood flow for a while before he can get proper medical treatment. He sighed. So much for his stress free and relaxing day. “You tell me, kid.”

Coming up short and having no idea where to even start looking, he thought he could take a trip down stairs and find something down there to help him help the kid in his workshop. Must have gauze down there somewhere? He’s always hurting himself when he’s working on something.

“Hey, I got it Mr. Stark...” The kid sounded hopeful. Drowsy and beyond fatigued. But slightly hopeful, nonetheless.

Tony glanced back down at him, a little amused despite himself and the situation. Damn kid was vulnerable and likeable, what could he say? “Yeah? What’s that?”

The kids voice was carried away with the wind as his eyes closed heavily once more. “Jarvis sounds... Like Vision...”

Tony watched him, jaw setting and baffled beyond belief, a heavy feeling settling itself in his chest. He couldn’t deny he was the most curious he’d been in a while about anyone he’d ever met. And that said something.

Tony shook his head, fingers kneading his beard contemplatively as he eyed the kid and his wound on his arm, which was now beginning to scab over ever so slightly and dry with rapid like cellular regeneration.

The billionaire took a seat again beside the teenager, using the cuff of his own sleeve as a barrier and utensil to apply pressure to the kids wound. No reaction. The kid was well and truly out. Which Tony supposed, was a good thing given the circumstances. He needed to find out what was going on here. He needed to help this bullet would close and heal, if he were to get anywhere with this situational. But, the curiosity was too strong. So naturally, first things first… “Play surveillance J, tv screen in the lounge up front. Show me how he got in.”

Jarvis, always happy to be of service and more than happy to help, sounded, if Tony didn’t know any better, rather concerned himself. There was a brief pause before Tony heard his response.

“Certainly, Sir.”


End file.
